My 2016 in photos

Two thousand and sixteen promised us lots of futuristic things, but when they arrived, I got fed up of them pretty quickly. It seemed to be a year of hoverboards that didn’t hover, people doing selfies and strange orange-skinned men banging on incessantly. Photography is something good to hold onto. Photography can’t tweet at 3am.

Invisible Dot, King's Cross

Invisible Dot, King’s Cross

The invisible Dot, now sadly closed, was a fantastic venue for comics to warm up for new shows or for new acts to get a food on the ladder. I saw Sheeps, Liam Williams, Kieran Hodgson, Joseph Murpurgo and many more there. No round up of my year would be complete without it.

Algiers

Algiers

Algiers is a wonderful assault on the senses. Jasmine, herbs, spices, barbecued meat, diesel and industry all fight to capture your attention against the sounds of cars beeping and police blowing their whistles for a purpose barely fathomable. At once, you are in the Maghreb, the middle east in outlook if not geographically and with French signs everywhere, you feel like you’re in Europe. The other places we visited in Algeria were very different altogether. 

Timimoun

Timimoun

The Sebkha Circuit outside Timimoun was one of the most exciting things I have done in my travels. Getting to Timimoun itself was an adventure – after flying on a Turboprop for four hours into the Algerian Sahara, you land in a tiny airport and wait while the police do various things with your passport. Then you need to have a police escort to take you the ten minute drive to your hotel. Going on the Sebhka Circuit requires a police escort as well, but soon you forget them and their guns and focus entirely on the stunning beauty of the ksar (old castle) and the underground dwellings where people would store dates and seek sanctuary from the blazing sun. Even in April, the difference in temperature underground was significant. We were able to walk around the abandoned caves, drive across dunes, see our driver rescue the police escort when their 4×4 was stuck in the sand and have sand blown in our faces for an hour thanks to a mini-sandstorm.

Ghardaïa

Ghardaïa

The magical town of Ghardaïa exists thanks to an oasis. In fact, it is one of fiive hilltop settlements that have their own oasis to draw from. Ghardaïa has a relatively new town but the real draw is the ancient town, which you can only access with the help of a professional guide. Photography is permitted, but you are not allowed to photograph the women, dressed in a white veil with only one eye peeping out. They swap the eye in use around so they don’t end up ruining their vision. We stayed at what we assume was our guide’s summer house, which looks like something fresh out of Tatooine. On our second day there we were invited to a wedding, where men danced around, occasionally stuffing antique guns with gunpowder and firing them at the floor. We drank mint tea and shuddered at every gunshot.

Roros

Røros

In May I visited my friend Dave in Norway, and we went to the delightful small town of Røros. It was founded in 1644 and for 333 years was a hotbed of mining shenanigans when it wasn’t burning down. The town and mine seemed to be on fire a lot. Working in the mines would have been exhausting work, and the sub-arctic temperatures could hardly improve the moods of the workers, so the brightly coloured buildings of the town make perfect sense. There is a wonderful cluster of the oldest wooden buildings near the old copper mine. The copper works museum is full of artefacts and a model reconstruction of the works, showing men and horses deep underground. As ever, Norway stole my heart with its good looks and charm.

Tate Modern

Tate Modern

In the summer, just after Brexit, the will of the people opened up the Tate Modern extension. The building looks like a fortress and it suited the climate of the country. Luckily, inside it is a wonderland of modern art, with a new 360 degree view over London and those horrid flats on Bankside. A nation fed up of millionaires was able to glare directly into their sterile living rooms and gasp “it looks like a show home”. Tate Modern put up a tiny sign asking for resident’s privacy to be respected. It was in every respect, the art event of the year. Here, my friend Leanne is risking it all with an umbrella opened up inside!

Man. Mourning a bucket.

Man. Mourning a bucket.

Here is a man looking sad by a bucket in the horrid flats on Bankside. The Switch House viewing platform is another highlight of the Tate Modern extension.

Berlin

Berlin

One of the first photos I took when I landed in Berlin was this sneaky one of a man, wearing bleachers, drinking beer from a roadside kiosk, holding flowers. The relaxed atmosphere of Berlin is just one reason why I love it.

Ferry to Skye

Ferry to Skye

In October, we took the ferry to Skye from Mallaig. After a stunning train journey it made sense to take a beautiful ferry ride. This girl proclaimed that her pose was “a Titanic reference!”. Meanwhile, Skye rose majestically in the distance.

The Old Man of Storr - Skye

The Old Man of Storr – Skye

Words, photos and memories do not do the Old Man of Storr justice. A steep walk up slippy paths in ever-apocalyptic weather got me thinking I should look more at my footing, but every second spent staring at the rock formations was a second well spent. An ancient landslide caused the startling rock formations, visible for miles around and the height of 11 double decker buses. Breathtaking.

The highlands to the islands

In October 2016, I had planned to go to Andalucia to bask in the sun, thrilled to still be a part of the EU. A few days prior to the vote, I reasoned that in case of emergency, a plan B (B for Brexit, B for Britain) should be made. So, the people revolted and Brexit means Brexit.

As the pound plunged, we swapped Andalucia for the Scottish highlands and it is the only good thing about the shambles thus far. We started in the superb city of Glasgow and travelled to the village of Staffin on Skye. The journey was a greatest hits package that any country would be proud of.

Scotland is a country that punches above its weight, or to give it the correct term, gives a Glasgow kiss above its weight. It is home to just over 5 million people, but the roll call of Scottish fame is intimidating. Sir Alexander Fleming invented penicillin, which is great even if I am allergic to it. Sport is represented by Andy Murray and the thighs of Chris Hoy. The otherworldly Tilda Swinton and the people’s James Bond come from there. There’s the inventiveness of the country, from adhesive postage stamps, Dolly the cloned sheep, TV to the flushing toilet. And breakfast would be poorer if a Scot hadn’t turned bitter Seville oranges into marmalade.

Another star is the Scottish landscape, when autumn is a painter’s palette come to life. The grey mountain tops are scattered with outcrops of greenery clinging on, contrasting with the russet of the deer grass. The landscape glows a deep gold with evergreen pines, glorious beech and oak adding to the view. Framing this, a big sky of blues, whites and greys. The end result is a landscape that can be described as romantic and cinematic. Scotland’s history seems deeply ingrained in the texture of the land and I fell wildly in love with it all.

Our holiday was a cobbled together affair of trains, planes and other people’s automobiles, where the journey from Glasgow to Fort William was by way of one of the greatest railway journeys in the world. That’s not just hyperbole; in 2011 readers of Wanderlust magazine voted it the best railway journey and The Telegraph rated it higher than the Oslo to Bergen line, which I have waxed lyrical about here.

The horseshoe curve

The horseshoe curve

 The journey to Fort William takes you along the shores of Loch Lomond, onto Tyndrum with its ‘horseshoe curve’, so-called because the train line has to take a meandering route around a glen in the shadow of three mountains. This is one example where budgetary restraints end up creating accidental beauty and the view from the left-hand side of the train was enchanting. The sun broke through the clouds, beams of light tumbled down the mountain like a torchlight showing us the way ahead. It lit up the small bridge we were gently curving towards, a brief moment of magic.

After some hours, we reached the moor of Rannoch, which the railway crosses for 23 lonely miles of bog, rivers and rocks. Here, the colours became predominantly rusty and a great sense of serenity washed over me as the landscape grew ever more barren. This moor provides ideal thinking time; with such immense emptiness all around you, becoming hypnotised by the sound of the rails and gentle movement is assured. The fact that the trains on the West Highland line are old and the rails are jointed, rather than welded, means you get the clackety-clack sounds. Is there anything more evocative in travel than that? The good news continues for those not fussed by old rails! The trains have a trolley of snacks if you’re in the market for Irn-Bru.

Rannoch Moor

Rannoch Moor

Approaching Fort William, the landscape becomes less barren as Ben Nevis smashes into view. The UK’s biggest mountain is 1,344 metres, which may not be all that impressive in comparison to Mont Blanc’s 4,809 but it’s a beautiful piece of rock. From a distance, it looks like a giant is hiding his head behind his shoulder and arm. As the sun sets, the mountain is lit in a pink hue that makes it hard to look away from. The first part of the train journey is over, so we stayed a night in Fort William.

Ben Nevis - a big rock

Ben Nevis – a big rock

We stayed at a hotel I won’t name, because there’s no need to advertise anyone with such an obvious dislike of customers, paying money and such horrible things. We were brusquely checked in, with a sense that we ought to apologise for our behaviour in advance, then we headed to our fabulously chintzy room. It may be the place that taste forgot, but the views of Loch Linnhe were nothing short of sensational. With a few hours of daylight still available, we headed out for a walk to  Old Inverlochy castle, via the high street liberally sprinkled with drunk men and the picturesque park caught between two roundabouts and a Morrisons. Looking out onto the water, you are transported to the perfection of nature. Just don’t turn round. We hug the banks of the River Lochy and the town quickly disappears, with Ben Nevis making the occasional cameo through the breaks in the trees to our right. It is very pleasing. Soon, we come to a railway line, walk through the bridge and the castle appears, eerily empty and nestled amongst trees. The population of sheep eye us with vague interest, before continuing their baahing duties by the river. The castle is well worth a visit, the walk there alone is good enough reason to go.

Old Inverlochy Castle

Old Inverlochy Castle

The walk back to town was done at a clip as we had a reservation at Crannog seafood restaurant. As a fairly recent convert to the fishier end of the spectrum, it always feels like a major event going to a place that specialises in that which used to scare me. I had a special of scallops and pork belly, with potatoes and pureed carrots. Washed down with wine and a pudding called Crannog Tipsy Laird (it’s trifle with whisky) I left a very happy man. Such a wonderful evening needs only one thing to top it off, a visit to Wetherspoons. After all of this, we got back to our hotel room to find it was barely ten in the evening. As I succumbed to a mildly boozy slumber, I had a grin on my face from a day of great beauty.

Fort William

Fort William